C'est La Vie

I wrote this piece almost a year ago.... with so much feelings.... would love to see it in print

C’est La Vie I’m not gonna tell you my name, if I did, I know somebody would hurt herself. I won’t reveal my identity, never. I know you have never heard from me before, but just consider me as another pathetic, wandering, lost soul of this wicked, damn world! This story is about my friend and… er… her sis… late. I’ll falsify their names. My friend is Jordan and her sister is Nicola. Ok, so what happened was… that Jordan… umm… now! I’m not gonna tell you! Because she’ll tell you herself, not by her own voice, but her own words, just go on reading. “Hey diary, I’m back now. I know I was absent for a week but what can I say, I was damn busy. “I’m feeling so low, so busted. So victimized, injured, hurt, pained, empty, lonely… oh gosh… I can’t go on living like this… forever!!! I’m so…!!! I know I’m feeling empty and lonely but not more than Nic, OH GOD!! She would be suffering! She would be alone, scared… with nobody to protect her, save her, give her company! with only those dark-angels who’s gonna question her!!! I’m feeling so guilty I want to be in her place, to spare her the trouble, I want to say it was all my fault!!! I wanna bring her back, to hide her from the world and its evils! “Day before yesterday, I went in her hospital room, she was looking so calm and peaceful. She was sleeping, her skin so pale, it seems to blend with the white pillow of hers. Her hairs, a black mass on her head, framing her angular face. Her eyes looked haunted, when she opened them. She smiled to me sweetly, and whispered “Feliz Compleanos (its Happy Birthday in Spanish.)”. I was shocked – not much really, because I know that she could never forget anyone’s birthday. She gave me a glass of her favorite apple juice to drink, the glass was hers but she shared it with me. It was our tiny ritual, we were bound to give gifts to each other, this is what I’ve learned from Dad. He says “even if you can’t buy anything big and special, treat the birthday-kid with something just to make them smile. That smile is the priceless thing in the world.” I hugged her, said thank you. I was still feeling sorry that I forced her to go with me, she was too polite to stop or refuse to me. She was hydrophobic, and I knew it very well. Until then, I used to make fun of her and she used to just laugh it off. Until then I used to think it was all a joke and she used to help me to believe it. I forced her to swim with me in deep waters. The Gold Coast shores are so seducing, you know that. She refused. I started calling her names “Chicken Chicken!!”, “Youre a baby!!”, “awww, look at that little chicken!! She don’t know how to swim.”… she still didn’t come. I forced her, made fun of her, hurting her feelings, I dragged her to the water. Still making fun of her, saying that she don’t even know how o swim... That was true!! She got annoyed, which is a rare thing. Us beach kids are different from each other, the only thing common in the kids of the entire Gold Coast is, surfing is everyone’s passion. Its in our blood. But, my God, Nic wasn’t blessed with this passion. She was so annoyed. I ran to the waters, she chased me. I ran, she chased. I dived in the water…. She dived with me….!!! That’s when I realized my mistake. She got drowned. Blue water, which looked so enchanting from the beach, enveloped her. She was gasping for air. I couldn’t help her. She appeared on the water’s surface… I jumped for her…. She disappeared again. Leaving me scared, guilty and helpless. When I was sipping the juice from her glass, I told her I’m sorry for what happened, she shrugged and said “C’est La Vie” (“life is like that” in French, closed her eyes… she never opened them again.” That’s what I got from Jordan’s diary. She lives somewhere I don’t know. She still blames herself, after several tests, it was found that Nicola didn’t die of her phobia… there was something else… maybe shock or something… but Jordan couldn’t believe it… I know you’d be thinking who am I, how do I know about this…! …I have to go before I start weeping again…

Subscribe

Get Teen Ink’s 48-page monthly print edition. Written by teens since 1989.